


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by chagrintrovert



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chagrintrovert/pseuds/chagrintrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Tom visits an ex-girlfriend and her family for Christmas. Will the season of love, hope, and forgiveness inspire her to take him back, or will she tell him he “really can’t stay”?</p><p>Written for SSS Winter Holidays prompt over on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

“Christa, come here! Look who’s popped in!” Mrs. Reid shouted from the foyer.

Christa excused herself, leaving her cousins to finish watching the Christmas parade without her. Just as she entered the foyer, she stopped dead in her tracks, speechless.

The last time they were alone together, they’d been in her apartment. She had come into the kitchen, her auburn hair a mass of tangled tresses surrounding her face, and he had stopped whisking the glaze for his cinnamon rolls, grinned, and pulled her toward him. Gently capturing her lips with his, he had squeezed her ass, lifted her onto the counter and deepened their kiss. He’d dragged his lips from hers and trailed them down her jaw and neck, leaving little nips here and there as he’d lifted her knee around his waist, and rubbed his growing hardness against the dampening flannel of her pajamas.

“Christa,” her mother’s voice yanked her from her thoughts, “dear, stop being rude. Say hello to our guest.”

“No worries, Linda,” his velvety British accent was painfully soothing. “She’s just surprised, is all.” He then wrapped his arms around her the way he used to, like nothing had changed at all.

“Well, surprised is one thing. Ill-mannered is another. Christa, take his coat and then bring him to the kitchen for some warm cider. He must be absolutely freezing.” And with that, she marched away, taking the last bit of Christa’s comfort with her.

Gone were the bouncy blond curls she remembered. They were replaced with a tamed, classic cut that had darkened with age and constant dye jobs. His face was dusted with just enough stubble, and he was dressed to perfection. Unable to look at him any longer without fighting back tears, Christa avoided his eyes and held out her hand. Mechanically she asked, “Can I hang up your coat?”

He shook his head. “This is awkward. Your mother invited me… I thought you knew. I thought… maybe you finally wanted to see me.” He bent forward slightly to catch her eye. “I’ll only stay if you want me to.”

She sniffled. “What I want doesn’t matter, Tom. I wanted you to stay before and you didn’t.”

“You’re still angry with me.”

“You’re damn right I’m angry. Now give me your coat and go get some cider. I’ll never hear the end of it if you vanish before Mom serves dinner. And I get more than enough questions about you already.”

Hesitantly, Tom nodded and shrugged out of his coat. He handed it to her and opened his mouth to say something but apparently decided against it and followed her mother’s path to the kitchen without another word.

When he was gone, she held his coat against her cheek. It was a heavy, navy blue wool blend peacoat that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke under the pervading scent of his spicy cologne. When had he started smoking again?

As she hung his coat in the hall closet, she couldn’t help but wonder why her mother had invited him. She knew they’d broken up – and not on good terms – and she knew that Christa had been trying desperately to move on. So why? And, of all days, why did she choose to do it on Christmas? Christa traipsed back into the living room and plopped onto the sofa. She tried to keep her eyes trained on on the marching bands, baton-twirling cheerleaders, and giant inflated Disney characters, but it was hard to focus on the parade when Tom looked so perfect sipping his cider and talking animatedly with her nephew on the floor.

He had only met her nephew a few times before, but the boy had never forgotten him. Christa supposed it was just because Tom was so hard to forget. But when her sister-in-law informed her that he was a huge Marvel fan, she understood how he’d happened to remember Tom so well. Once, she’d even had to tell him to stop telling his friends at school that Tom was his uncle. He’d decided to take drama as his freshman elective and Christa knew he was assigned to do a report on an actor. He had chosen Brando, but he must have changed his mind today, because she watched them smile for a selfie the boy said he’d use in his presentation. Tom took another sip of his cider and peered over the rim of his cup to look at her. The ghost of a nostalgic smile teased the corners of his mouth as he turned his attention back to the boy who’d just asked him how he prepared for different kinds of roles.

How did he manage to fit in so perfectly with her family? Her mother clearly adored him. Her brother had always been able to easily joke with him and they had bonded over their mutual love of tennis. He even got along with her father, the quintessential all-American man’s man, who spent the majority of his time either running his law firm or watching football and grilling four different meats on the grill he’d spent too much money to have built into the back patio.

The surprise visit, the memories flashing in her head, the way Tom just fit into her family like he belonged there – it was suddenly too much to handle. Christa felt like she was suffocating. Before she knew it, she was on her feet and walking out the front door. Her red mini dress did little to protect her from the snow, but she didn’t seem to feel the flakes settling on her exposed shoulders. She didn’t care that the slush on the sidewalk would probably ruin her suede wedges. She was halfway down the block before she heard him calling her name.

“Christa, wait!” He ran to catch up with her. “What are you doing? It’s freezing out here.”

Finally starting to feel the air’s chill, she wrapped her arms around herself. “I had to get out of there. I thought I could suck it up and make it through the day, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know why she invited you, but –”

“She invited me when I called to ask for her bourbon French toast recipe. She asked if I’d be going to London for Christmas and I told her I wouldn’t have the time between projects this year to make it home.” He looked a bit crestfallen. “I didn’t know it would upset you this much. I’m so sorry. Can we please go back inside? You’re going to freeze to death.”

Sighing, she turned back toward the house. They walked in silence, sidestepping icy patches while they each sorted through their own thoughts. Inside, Tom closed the front door quietly so they didn’t disturb the dinner conversation in the dining room. Christa kicked off her shoes and stepped toward the living room but Tom caught her hand and led her upstairs.

On the landing, he whispered, “We need to talk about this. We’ll only make dinner awkward for everyone if we go in there right now.”

Christa nodded reluctantly and tiptoed to her old bedroom, which was still set up exactly as she left it after college, but her mother had taken to using it for extra storage space. Tom stepped around the few boxes and sat on the edge of the bed while Christa closed the door and opened the heater vent to warm the room. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with that one eyebrow raised just so over his puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, no. Don’t look at me like that,” she said as she crossed the room to stand by the window. “You’re either going to tell me something I don’t want to hear or ask me something I don’t want to answer.”

“Yes, I am.” He stood and walked over to her. “What would have happened between us if I hadn’t left?”

“I don’t know, Tom. Maybe we still would have split up. Who knows? It’s too late to find out now.”

He stepped closer. “Is it?”

Her breath hitched and she regretted her decision to lean against the wall. “You left,” she tried not to let her voice waiver. “Why did you leave?”

Tom’s brow furrowed in contemplation. “I was young… and stupid. I didn’t know then that you were the best thing that would ever happen to me. My dreams of being an actor are completely worthless without having you to share them with. Especially when I see some part of you in every character I play.”

“What?”

“Christa, how am I to forget you when Loki has your wit? When Caius has your bravery? When Freddie has your desire for adventure, and Thomas Sharpe has your tenaciousness and capacity for love? You are in my head and in my heart. And I’m sorry for ruining what we had.” He took her hands in his, and placed a kiss in each palm. “More than that, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Blinking back tears, Christa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, “That was some speech.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Tom smiled, relieved. “So, what now?”

“Well, we could go down to dinner. Or…”

He smirked. “Or?”

She placed her hand on his cheek and pulled him almost close enough for their lips to meet. “Or you could show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Tom pressed his lips firmly against hers and tangled both hands in her hair. Christa teased her tongue into his mouth and relished in the taste of spiced apple cider and sweet tobacco. The muscles in his back were more defined than she remembered and his shoulders seemed wider. As he rucked her dress up to her waist and lifted her up to wrap her legs around his hips, she thought that this was not the Tom she had been with before. That Tom was an inexperienced child compared to the Tom that was currently grinding against her in the best possible way as he nibbled down her neck and collarbone. After struggling momentarily with his belt buckle, she swiftly yanked it free and unbuttoned his dark jeans. He carried her over to the bed and laid her down. Kissing and nipping his way down her body, he pushed her dress up to her belly, hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and deftly pulled them off.

He gazed at her hungrily for a moment before crawling forward and dipping his head between her thighs. He gently kissed each of her lips and then dragged his tongue firmly up the center of her pussy, making a point to suckle her clit before repeating the motion. She pinched her nipples through the fabric of her dress and rested one hand on the back of Tom’s head as he snaked his arms around her thighs to pull her closer. She struggled to stay quiet when he flicked his tongue over her clit and he slid two long fingers into her core, curling them, stroking that sweet spot inside her. With his free hand, he shimmied his jeans down over his hips and wrapped his fist around his stiff cock. Christa could hear his quiet groans and feel that he was stroking her inner walls in time with the pumping of his fist. She looked down to find him watching her as he licked and stroked and sucked. He grinned lasciviously and pulled his fingers from her depths and licked them clean.

“Christa, put the pillow between the headboard and the wall, please.” He continued to stroke himself as he watched her sit up on her knees and stuff the pillow securely into place. She looked over her shoulder at him curiously. “Thank you. We don’t need anyone coming up here because they hear the bed hitting the wall, do we? Now, hands on the headboard, hold the pillow in place.”

She did as he commanded and faced the wall as he crawled up behind her. She felt his fingers flutter along her thighs like a subtle breeze and traverse the hills and valleys of her hips and lower back. His chest was warm and solid against her shoulder blades, his lips soft and wet with her juices as he kissed the tender spot just behind her ear. He teased his shaft between her lips, taking time to lubricate his cock with her arousal. In one fluid motion, he thrust into her, covering her gasp with his hand in time to hide the sound. He remained still, buried within her, until he was sure she could keep quiet. Sliding his hand from her mouth to her hair, he pulled her head back gently and again captured her lips with his. She tasted herself on his tongue. He started to move, slow but powerful thrusts that made her head swim. She relished the languid fullness, but with each stroke she craved more.

“Tom…” she whined.

“I know, love. I know.”

Increasing his speed, he moved his hand from her hair to her breast and slid the other down to her mound. He pushed into her harder, faster, deeper with every thrust, rubbing circles on her clit as he did. Her knuckles were white from squeezing the headboard and her breath came in ragged gasps. Tom buried his face in the crook of her neck, panting her name and various sacrilegious vows. He reached places within her that she’d nearly forgotten with other lovers since him and she thought she’d never felt more alive than when he was inside her. Every pump of his hips was euphoric. Every flicker of his fingers on her clit sent a bolt of lightning through her body. Her walls guided him home and each of her stuttered attempts to say his name sounded to him like heavenly praise. She threw her head back and he again covered her mouth to stifle her moan as she came undone, the contraction of her body heightening his own pleasure. A few more hard thrusts and he spilled inside her, biting her shoulder to keep himself quiet.

When their breathing had settled and their racing hearts slowed back to normal, Tom withdrew from her heat and stood off the bed. Making himself presentable, he motioned for her to stay where she was. He stepped around the boxes and opened the bedroom door slightly. Her family was still talking and laughing and the sound of silverware clanking on china bounced off the walls of the staircase. He crossed the hall and quickly returned from the bathroom with a warm washcloth. He helped her get cleaned up and laughed at her when she dug through her vanity drawer to find a hair tie.

“Well I can’t go back down there looking like this, can I?” Christa swooped her hair into a topknot bun and checked for flyaways in the full length mirror on the closet door. She turned back to him, “Tom, do you know where my underwear went?”

He grinned. “They’re in my pocket, darling. And that’s where they’ll stay.”

“You’re kidding.”

Tom cocked his eyebrow and shook his head. “Afraid not.” He opened the door. “How about we go eat dinner? I’m suddenly ravenous.”

Downstairs, they filled their plates and sat in the two empty chairs at the end of the table. Christa’s family was discussing the outcome of the football game and trying to console her father, who was pouting because his team lost and he’d have to pay his paralegal a hundred dollars on Monday. Her nephew leaned across the table and whispered to her.

“Aunt Christa, I think you should convince Uncle Tom to come talk to my drama class next week.”

She murmured back, “He’s not your uncle.”

Quietly clearing his throat, Tom nudged her with his elbow and inconspicuously pointed out the heating vent behind the boy’s head. Christa nearly choked on a roasted brussels sprout.

Her nephew looked at her pointedly, “Are you sure about that?”

Tom leaned back in his chair and stared at the boy, impressed. “Loki would like you. I’ll come talk to your class on Tuesday.”

Christa rolled her eyes and thought about how these two would torture her if she ever actually did marry Tom. But watching him talk to her brother about something so mundane as tennis while sliding his hand up her dress under the table made her think that torture might just be her new favorite thing.


End file.
